


A Boy, Who Made all the Wrong Choices

by MatthewWuzHere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Auror Harry Potter, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Roommates, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, So much angst, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatthewWuzHere/pseuds/MatthewWuzHere
Summary: Draco tries to push his past behind him as he runs his own potion shop, and he does a good job of it. Never interacts with people from his past, never reminisces in memories. That all changes when he starts getting mysterious letters and trinkets from an unknown person. It invokes him to take a trip down memory lane, to feel that overwhelming pain, and fall in love with the boy who lived all over again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	1. Trinkets and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING PEOPLE
> 
> Draco does self harm/self punishment. He will learn to stop in later chapter but until then be warned.
> 
> On a much lighter note; my chapters are not beta read and i have small brain. There is a high chance for grammar errors and such.

Chapter 1: Trinkets and Memories 

Draco sat on the floor of his flat. It had only been a few days since he’d moved from the Malfoy’s manor. Boxes still laid strewn about the floor where he sat. There were still so many he hadn’t opened yet, and quite frankly Draco didn’t feel like opening them. Unpacking would be equivalent to admitting his youth was over and it was time for a new phase of his life. Draco was stuck in a void. He had shut out his past entirely, yet refused to move on. So where did that leave him? Drifting in nothingness. 

At least he had a job. That seemed to ground him into reality. Draco was the proud owner of a well running potion shop. Even his shifty reputation couldn’t change the fact he was best in the business. Buyers flocked to his shop daily. Between owl orders and custom potion requests Draco always had his hands full. 

It was easy to forget the past when he simply had no time to remember it. That all seemed to suddenly change though. 

Rain pattered on Draco’s windows. It was soothing, sitting on the floor and getting lost in the noises of the storm outside. It thundered violently, and if he closed his eyes, he’d find every few moments the bright flash of lightning would seep through his eyelids. 

If he wasn’t paying so much attention to the sounds, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight rap on his door that interrupted the soothing pattering on his windows. He wouldn’t have heard a small envelope slip under his door either. 

Draco swiveled towards the door and tilted his head. It was Sunday. There wasn’t post on Sundays. He rose slowly, carefully and approached the envelope. It was crisp white with a red wax seal. He wondered how it didn’t seem to have a single drop of rain on it. 

It was eerie. Draco was never one to stray from eerie though. He picked up the letter to discover there was a small jewelry box under it. He scrunched up his nose in detest as he picked up the small black box and set it on a table. 

The wax cracked apart easily as Draco opened the letter. He pulled out the paper and was surprised to find it had been sprayed with cologne. A cologne he recognized all too quick. It smelt like Harry. The thought made him shiver in disgust as he looked down at the beautifully written words. No doubt done in black ink and written by a feathered quill. 

Dear, Malfoy. 

It’s reassuring to see you finally leaving your manor behind. This letter has been collecting dust for far too long. It took a few days but as you can see, I found your address easily. Don’t be concerned, for I mean you no harm. 

Your youth was kind to you, Draco. It doesn’t take a detective to see you’ve pushed it so far away. You converse with no one from your childhood, and stray from any reminder of your pain. Can I truly blame you though? If I was in your position, I’d like to forget too. No one saw it that way though, did they? They judged your actions before taking a second to question why you did them. 

You had a choice sure, but It’d be wrong if I said it wasn’t heavily influenced. I would’ve followed my family to the ends of the earth too. I don’t blame you. 

I think you’ll find the contents of the jewelry box to be a nice trip down memory lane. You shouldn’t forget who you were Draco. Don’t abandon him too. Not like everyone else did. I’ve learned to happily embrace the youth we shared. It’s not so bad once you remember it's all in the past. I promise. 

Sincerely, 

A Distant Memory. 

Draco read the letter three times before it sunk in and he reached for the black box. He gently clicked it open and looked in. Inside was a small charm that depicted two hands shaking. Draco’s breath hitched as he picked up the charm and turned it around. On the back was an engraved quote, one he recognized. 

“You don’t wanna go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” 

A small slip of paper caught Draco’s eyes and he plucked it up. On it read, “What if?” Draco dropped them all on the spot. The letter, the box, they both hit the ground. Draco most certainly did not want to remember. He didn’t want to ever think about his youth again. 

He had a sneaking suspicion this wouldn’t be the last of the letters. With a grunt he left his memories on the floor and trudged to bed. Perhaps tomorrow would treat him with more kindness. 

\--- 

When the alarm clock blared in Draco’s ear it occurred to him that he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d spent so much time thinking on the letter. The letter he’d told himself to just forget about. 

Who would want to reach out to him? How long had they waited? Why him of all people? He shoved the questions to the deepest part of his mind as he rose out of bed. He pulled on a clean white button up and black skinny jeans. Draco wore this outfit so often it was practically his uniform by now. 

The rain had stopped late last night. The sun now peaked from the tops of trees. Sunlight warmed Draco’s cold body, but not his cold heart. Living alone for so many years had made him freezing. His parents rarely qualified as company, as all they did was cause him pain. 

He stepped outside to enjoy the warmth as he sipped a cup of tea. Draco was never a breakfast person, a morning person yes, but breakfast made his stomach hurt. Made him feel like puking. That was a sensation Draco despised. Reminded him of how he felt when his father... He cared not to think about those memories. His stomach did a lurch, thank god he hadn’t eaten or it all would’ve come up right then. 

When he finished his morning tea, he went back inside to wash the dishes. He could’ve spelled the teacup clean, but he wanted something to do. Something to keep his mind on the now. He took a wash cloth and gently scrubbed away any stains or remains of tea. He scrubbed until the cup was pearly white and shining. Then he set the cup on a towel to dry. 

He went to the bathroom to do the same to his teeth. He cleaned them until they were pearly white. Brushing and brushing, flossing and flossing, until he spat blood from his gums. 

Finally, he pulled on an overcoat and began to make his way outside. Yet, his eyes flicked to the trinket on the ground. It called out to him, and for a second, he almost bent over to pick it up. He slapped his own hand hard enough to leave a bruise before striding out the door and apparating to his small potion shop. 

There was already a line out to the street in front of it. Draco really did need to work on expanding his shop to fit more people, he was sick of seeing lines outside even when he was open. 

He stepped up to the door and flipped the sign from Closed to Open. The crowd behind him seemed to shift eagerly, which made Draco feel all too nervous as he unlocked to door and stepped in. A horde of people followed behind him. 

The smell of flowery brews filled Draco’s nostrils and he sighed. It was comfortable behind the counter in his shop. He felt like he could truly be calm here. Even when people lined in front of the cash register. It was calming, he had something to focus on. Something other than the past. 

He mindlessly ringed people up at the register, bagging potions and ingredients. He rung up person after person flawlessly. Then he fumbled with one coin. Only one. He dropped it. 

Without a second thought he slammed his fingers in the register before bending down and picking it up. He didn’t fumble again for the rest of the day. 

\--- 

Draco stared in his mirror as he scrubbed his face. He did this often; he’d really rather not have acne. But when he lifted his hands, he saw the bruises. When had those gotten there? 

They reminded him of when he was younger. He clutched his hands to his chest and sighed. When had he done that to himself? The bruises stung and throbbed on his hands. He really needed to learn to stop doing that to himself. He knew it wasn’t healthy, and he didn’t want to hurt himself. 

So why did he do it? 

He abandoned the mirror and walked back to his living room. Unopened boxes still littered the floor. He really needed to get to unpacking those. 

A slight glimmer caught his eye and he looked towards it. There was the charm, still bright and shining. With a sigh he started towards it and bent over to pick it up. It felt cold in his hands, it was comforting against his bruises. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to remember the past. 

Harry Potter. 

The boy who lived had been his enemy to the bitter end. The paper he had read last night invoked a thought in him. What if it had been different? What if Harry had taken his hand that day. He had no doubt his life would be much different. Draco rubbed his bruises and sighed. He was tired. Not just a bodily tired, his very soul ached for sleep. 

“You don’t wanna go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He repeated the words he had once spoke as a boy. 

Just one last trip. He’d let this mysterious memory writer take him on one last trip down his past before he forgot it all for good. It would hurt, he knew it would. 

“Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.” He chuckled to himself and held the charm to his chest. Rivals and enemies to the bitter end huh? It could’ve been different. He knew it all could’ve been better if Harry had just taken his damn hand. He wouldn’t have hated him, wouldn’t have become a death eater.... Maybe his father wouldn’t have beat him so often. 

He didn’t miss his past, he missed what it could’ve been.


	2. Unboxing Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco finally comes around to taking care of himself and unpacking. With this new sudden energy he might just come around to opening the next letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W- Draco does self harming/punishment in this chapter. He also shows signs of anxiety, though he doesn’t acknowledge it yet.
> 
> Also I wrote this chapter on my phone, and autocorrects a bitch. I’ll try my best to proofread but without a beta reader it’s a bit difficult <3

It had been a week since Draco had gotten his first mystery letter. Since then there had been no other writings or trinkets. Just him, his boxes, and the odd charm in his pocket. The questions still rung in his mind. Who wrote the letter? Why did they write it? How long have they been waiting to contact him? Those questions were pushed down and far away.

Draco had decided today he would unpack. He awoke early in the morning to birds chirping and warm sunshine on his face. After rubbing his hands over his tired eyes and stretching he managed to pull himself out of bed. Once his sheets were thrown off and he stood, the cold air of his flat assaulted him. It made him want to crawl right back into his bed. He shook off the feeling and opened the sliding door of his closet. 

After about 10 minutes of indecision, Draco was dressed in a loose black tee tucked into black skinny jeans. Nothing super classy, but he still looked presentable. His hair however, was currently not presentable. It took a lot less time to tackle that hurdle and wash his face.

He felt fresh and awake. Yet, a sad tired still lingered deep inside of him. He pinched his arm for being so dramatic and made his way to his kitchen.   
The first thing he did was set a kettle of tea on the stove top, then he slid two pieces of bread into the toaster. Nothing big, but tea helped him keep down his food. The last thing he needed was to get sick in the morning from eating toast. 

Once the toast popped he gently plucked them out, managing to only burn himself a little bit. He dropped the toast on his plate and sucked on his index finger. It soothed the burn only slightly but it was better than nothing. He pulled his finger out so he could spread jam over his toast. The high pitched whistle of the kettle caught his attention. He poured some of the steaming chamomile into a teacup. After trial and error he had discovered chamomile helped his stomach the most. He never understood why his stomach hurt so bad in the morning… his mother always told him it was just the nervous jitters. 

Draco sat on his back porch. The sky was cloudless and a soft blue. He admired it as he sipped on his tea and chewed on his toast. The strawberry jam was delicious. For once he was glad to be enjoying breakfast. Moving out had really been a wonderful idea.

His dishes were washed and dried before being put away. He currently only had a few dishes out, most of his cabinets were empty due to the lack of unpacking. But today that changed, he set his mind to it.

He lifted, opened, and cleared box after box. Slowly his living room was looking more like a well decorated living space than a box dump. Each room was decorated with vases and flowers. Several of pricey decorations laid strewn about on shelves, giving the illusion that he actually cared enough to collect such antiques.

It was when he recycled his last box that the letter slid under his door. Draco froze in his tracks, looking back at the white envelope sealed with red wax. So the mystery writer had struck again? He had no interest in reading it. He picked it up and set it on his kitchen counter before groaning and flopping down on his couch. 

His body felt relieved after moving heavy boxes all morning. He closed his eyes and stretched. Maybe he’d turn on the TV for a bit then go make lunch?

Or he could open the letter.

The subtle thought caught him off guard and he sat upright. His hands searched for the small hand trinket only to find it wasn’t in his pocket. He furrowed his brows and stood up to look for it. Draco checked under his couches and chairs, by his sink and in his backyard. Only to find he hadn’t dropped it anywhere and he had in fact left it on his bedside table. 

He groaned. Why was he so worried about such a trinket anyway? It shouldn’t matter. Still he couldn’t seem to shake the fear of loosing it. With a sigh of defeat he walked out to his living room and pulled out a small sewing kit he’d stashed in one of his drawers. He looked through the yarn carefully. Nothing seemed to fit his needs so he pulled out a needle and began to sew his own small bracelet.

It took a little under an hour, but by time it was done it was worth it. He’d stuck himself with the needle a few times but nothing a tissue couldn’t fix. He slipped on the bracelet and walked back to his room, where he slowly attached the charm.

“There. Now I won’t loose it and I can move on.” He rolled his eyes and decided it was about time for lunch. His stomach rumbled as if to agree. 

In the kitchen Draco grabbed down a bowl and began to make a fruit salad. He figured it would be enough to satisfy him without angering his stomach. He missed being a boy and not having to worry about what he ate… he shouldn’t think that.

Draco did NOT miss being young.

Draco sat on his couch and ate his salad. Gently chewing fruit pieces and watching TV. Muggle TV was the oddest thing to Draco, but it entertained him a lot. He bounced back and forth between channels before settling on the animal planet. Seemed decent enough.

He was hoping for cuddly pets and cute wildlife but what he got was lion hunting and dead animals. He gagged and it was a nightmare to keep his food down. He changed the channel quickly so he wouldn’t spill up his food. His meal was only slightly ruined… but he still wished he’d seen a warning or something.

His food was finished without entertainment. He was bored, and in his boredom found his mind wandering to the small letter on his kitchen counter. Draco told himself it wasn’t worth it as he washed and dried his dishes.

It was true. The letter wasn’t worth it, but his mind still floated back to it. Distracting himself by cleaning didn’t work, his house was pretty much spotless anyway. A hot shower didn’t seem to break the stream of thought either.

Maybe cooking dinner would be better?

No. He didn’t make it halfway through his dinner of meatloaf for one before he succumbed to his curiosity. With eager hands, he tore open the envelope, cracking the wax in the process. He pulled out the soft paper and looked it over. It was the same handwriting as last week.

Dear, Malfoy

I hope this letter finds you in good health. The charm I gifted you last week is warded to prevent illness but as you now, wards are very flukey. Although I loved the charm. In fact I went back the next day to order one for myself. But enough about me, I’m sure you want me to get to the point of this letter. 

Remember soaring on a broom, high above the ground? I think that was my favorite part of quidditch. Not the seeking, the scoring, or the keeping. I loved the flying. The feel of the wind in my face as I race through the pitch. The boots and hollers if the ground as their team scores. 

That brings me to your next memory. Year two, when you started seeking. How did it feel? Did you do it for fun or just to one up Harry? Was it for the feeling of flight or the thrill of the hunt? How much did it hurt to watch Harry win when all odds were against him?

Don’t block out the memories Draco. It only fuels hatred. 

I did the same thing as you, and I was so angry for so long.

Sincerely, A Distant Memory

Draco set down the letter as a tear rolled down his cheek. It had hurt. Draco should’ve won. But he’d been nothing but a blind boy, too caught up on chasing Potter to ever care about any snitch. He’d shut the memory out for so long he’d never truly allowed himself to feel bitter about it. 

He went to throw away the envelope when a small paper fell out. On the floor was a glossy painting of a snitch, in all its golden beauty. Draco wanted to stomp on it. Maybe even tear it up. But when he picked it up all he did was magnet it to his fridge.

Another Sunday another memory. There was only worse to come.


	3. Avoiding the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco reunites with an old foe and learns things he’d rather run from than face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read I can only catch so much so I’m sorry if I missed some things.
> 
> T/W-slight self harm

The last thing Draco wanted was to see Harry Potter again. It was always too soon or too late with him. He never showed up at quite the right time, and he always spun Draco’s world around. Sadly meeting Harry once more was exactly what happened Saturday.

Draco was shopping at a wizarding grocer. His hand skimmed a line of spices and herbs as he decided which one to buy. He was never truly into cooking, but there was always time to learn. He settled on a common magical spice known as dragon’s breath. His personal cooks used it often when they cooked for him. It was certainly spicy, but nothing Draco couldn’t handle.

He placed it gently into his hand cart and continued along, Draco had already bought a plethora of cooking supplies. He hadn’t brought much to his flat when he had packed, so he had to buy them now. With the steady income from his shop, it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money.

The poor boy hadn’t even noticed Harry was in the same aisle. It was only when Draco got on his tippy toes to reach a bag of flour on the top shelf, that he felt a hand brush his. He quickly pulled back his hand as if he had been burned and turned to complain at the other man, “Watch where your bloody hands go-“ his words snapped off as his eyes fell on curly locks of brown hair and a lighting scar.

He gulped and prayed he wouldn’t be recognized, but of course he would be. He was Draco bloody Malfoy. Harry tilted his head and gave him a concerned look, “Come on. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Never.” Draco hissed and spun on his heels. He could always get flour some other time, now he just wanted to get the hell out of there. Of course, Harry didn’t follow him, and Draco didn’t look back. Only for a split second did he wish he could find the courage to just speak to him. But not now… not after everything they’d done, all the history between them. they were enemies on opposite ends of a war, there would be no coming back from that.

The spot on his pale hand where those well tanned fingers had touched, burned. It burned in a way that made him want to stick his hand in cold water and watch it freeze over.

Dammit Harry. This was too soon. It would always be too soon. Draco payed for his items and quickly left. He didn’t break down until he had safely apparated home and locked himself in his flat. His damn hand still burned, he ran it under the sink to no avail. Tears rolled down his cheeks making salty streaks. This was a kind of burn that no amount of water could cure. It was much stronger than any 3rd degree. It was the burning feeling of want. The want to touch Harry’s hand once more. He’d had that burning since his first year of hogwarts, and whenever he saw Harry in the paper, it flared up once again. Draco wiped the tears from his face and rubbed his puffy eyes.

He decided he’d go to bed early today. The sun was still high in the sky but he curled under his sheets anyway. He’d just have to learn to cook some other day. He had plenty of time.

Saturday left his heart aflame.

Surely Sunday couldn’t be any worse. 

———

He was so very wrong. Draco awoke with an ache in his back, and wandered to the kitchen for a soothing cup of tea. But as soon as it went down, he ran straight to the bathroom to throw it back up. Maybe he was sick? But he didn’t feel hot. This was a different sick. 

So he skipped breakfast that morning and went to turn on the news and cuddle up on the couch. The TV whirled to life and displayed the latest in the wizarding world. Draco laid back and got comfortable, but his comfort was quickly interrupted. Harry’s frame was displayed on screen. Apparently he was giving an interview on what his childhood was like, but Draco didn’t listen. He was much to fixated on how his lips moved.

Draco shook his head as the burning engulfed his body. Those flames were caused by that bloody man. He quickly turned off the TV and groaned. His daily routine had officially been obliterated. His brain craved structure, the lack of such things made the sick in his stomach grow. 

He spent the rest of his morning curled over the toilet, throwing up. By time he was done his skin was pale and dehydrated. The sound of a letter being pushed under his door shook him from his worries. He quickly splashed water on his face and wandered out to the living room, this time eager to have something to do that reassembled routine.   
The wax sealed letter was accompanied by a newspaper clipping. He lifted both and set the clipping on his kitchen counter before tearing open the letter. The wax cracked and gave way for a small paper to slip out. Draco plucked it up and scanned it over.

Dear, Malfoy  
Sadly, I don’t offer you a memory today, though I think you’ll find that a relief. You seem to not be fond of the past. Can I truly blame you?

Instead, I offer you information on someone you’ve pushed much too far away. Make sure you read the newspaper clipping that accompanies this letter. It holds that information that I will not disclose in this letter. I fear if I do you’ll stop reading and turn away.

You run so far from the past, while he’s stuck in it. I shouldn’t give away too much. Just read the clipping.

Sincerely, a distant memory

Draco set down the paper. He knew exactly what was going to be on that clipping. The last thing he wanted to do was read about Harry Potter. Yet, his burning hands still found a way to grab onto that clipping. They still brought it to his face for his eager eyes to read. They read over the page hungrily. It was an article on an interview with Harry Potter, accompanied with a moving picture of his bright smile and bubbly laugh. 

The interview was on Harry’s opinion of Draco. He was expecting a long essay of words on Draco’s horrible actions, but he read on and found the opposite. Short comments defending the Malfoy boy. His mouth fell open in shock as he desperately read on, gripping the clipping.

“Mr. Potter if there was anything you could’ve changed, what would’ve been?”

“I would’ve taken Draco’s hand.”

“But why?”

“Because he was the one person I couldn’t save.”

Draco dropped the clipping and ran a hand through his well combed hair, messing it up. 

Harry was always far too late or far too early… If only Draco had known that sooner. He wouldn’t be sitting in his flat throwing up with fear. He wouldn’t be haunted with visions of his past. Harry could’ve saved him. But it was too late for that. He just wished he’d come same him now. Because he definitely needed it.

Draco groaned and kicked his counter. His toes curled in pain so he kicked again and again until he couldn’t feel them anymore. Until that burning pain turned to numbness.

Harry never wanted to save him. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. He refused to believe it was true for now and for forever he’d avoid the truth. He’d run from it just like he ran from the past. Draco’s burning feelings that he couldn’t describe were both the truth and the past.

Just more running to do.


	4. Unwanted Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco gets a visit from an unwanted guest and a letter that leaves him enraged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read.
> 
> T/W mentions of self harm and abuse

Draco awoke to the most gentle of knocks on his front door. A small tapping that, if Draco had not been a light sleeper, would’ve gone unnoticed. The boy sat up in bed and rubbed his tired eyes. What time was it? His eyes flicked to his alarm to find it was 6am. He practically choked. Who in bloody hell could be at his door this early? He wasn’t expecting a letter for Sunday until noon. Draco moved in a rush, pulling on clothes and getting ready for the day. He’d much rather be sleeping until 10. Heaven knows he needed the sleep. He hardly ever got more than 5 hours a night. The slightest bump would wake him.

The knocking continued, growing slightly louder as time passed. So much for having a nice slow paced morning. Draco rushed to the door and went to undo the locks before freezing. A cold chill ran through his body… a chill that grew from the mark on his arm. His body was frozen stiff and Adrenalin coursed through his veins. The first thing he did was grip his wand in hand, the second was peak through the door.

He didn’t know whether to be more scared or relieved. Narcissa Malfoy stood outside the door, her hair neatly done and her hands gripping her purse. Draco’s eyes searched for his father. If Lucius was there, he would never open the door again. Luckily his mother seemed to have come alone.

Draco pocketed his wand and carefully finished unbolting his door. He pulled it open and gulped at the sound of his mother gasping, “Oh Draco I didn’t know if you were awake! How is your morning?”

His mother was as kind as ever. Acting as if she loved him even after everything that had happened, everything she had let happen. Draco stared at the woman with cold eyes. Eyes easily recognized as inherited from his father. He shuddered at the thought, “well I haven’t had much of a bloody morning, seeing as I woke up 5 minutes ago.”

“Oh…” Narcissa looked down at her feet, but her eyes were quick to rise once more, “can I come in? I would like to see your place.” 

Draco, despite his instincts telling him to shut the door and run, stepped aside for his mother to enter. She stepped in and smiled, looking around the neatly decorated flat, “well. It’s much smaller than our Manor, but you’ve decorated well.”

“Thanks.” His voice was stiff as he watched his mother move to the couch and sit. Her eyes still sized up the room. Draco shut the door and stood by it, not knowing what to do.

“You’re wondering why I’m here?” His mother guessed, and it was a bloody good guess because she was spot on. Draco response to the question was a short nod. 

Narcissa sighed, “it gets lonely you know? All alone in that manor.”

“Where’s Lucius?” Draco’s voice was harsh. He refused to acknowledge that man as related to him. Not after all he did to him.

“Your father has work. He’s trying to rebuild our name.”

“The name he tarnished.” Draco hissed which received a glare from his mother. The harsh look caused Draco to stiffen once more and grow quiet. 

Narcissa gave her son a soft sigh. “He tries his best you know. He just wanted the best for us.”

Draco’s ears turned red with rage. Beating him daily was far from best for Draco. Forcing him into a cult following of Voldemort was sickening and disgusting. Draco watched people die in front of him, how could that possibly be best for him?

“If you’ve come to discuss father, you can leave.” 

“No no. I wanted to talk about something else,” Her voice was soft as she set down her purse and gently patted next to her on the couch, “come sit.” 

Despite the fear that swirled inside of him, Draco obeyed. He always obeyed. He had no free will. After a small walk he sat next to his mother, who gently took his hand and squeezed it.

“You’re lonely.”

Draco looked to his mother in disbelief, “I am not lonely-“

“Son, your hands are cold. They are always cold when you’re lonely.” Well how could she possibly know that? Draco looked down at his pale fingers. Traitors. He’d have to put them back in their place later.

“Have you found a flat mate?”

“I don’t want a flat mate mother, I want to be alone.” Draco assured her. They were vile lies. He was so cold and alone here. Just going through the schedule everyday, never doing anything different. Never saying good morning to someone or waving them goodnight before they split off to their rooms.

“I know when you lie. You’re palms get warmer.”

He had traitor hands. Bloody treason. Draco pulled back his hand from his mothers grasp and sighed, “I don’t need one. I’m doing just fine here alone.”

Narcissa shook her head, “I simply will not allow it. You will find a flat mate by the end of this month or I am moving in with you.”

“Like bloody hell you are!” Draco looked at his mother in disbelief. He knew she was telling the truth though, Narcissa never bluffed.

“One month, Draco. I will return in a month.” She stood and slowly walked to the door, all while her son stared at her in a mixture of shock and anger. Narcissa sighed and looked back at Draco, “It’s for your own good.” 

She left with no further comment. Leaving cold lonely Draco to sit alone in his cold lonely home. How was he of all people going to find a flat mate? No one in their right mind would stay with him.

———

The letter came at noon and no later. It slid under his door and beckoned for the Malfoy boy to collect it. Draco was far too weak to resist its calling and scooped it up. The bracelet he wore with the charm still stayed on his wrist. 

He peeled it open, cracking the wax in the process. Now that it was open he could pull out the delicate paper it contained. His hungry eyes grazed over the paper.

Dear, Malfoy

Days have been difficult recently. I, like you, have found myself lost in the world. These letter to you are the only thing grounding my feet to the soil. My head floats higher and higher each day until the fog clogs my head. Anyway, I’ll stop being poetic and just get to the point of this letter.

I miss you and I never thought in a million years that would happen. I miss how much I hated seeing you. I miss having something to constantly distract my brain. These letters give me something to think about again. Sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me. If you ever miss me. One day I will tell you my identity.

One day when I’m ready.

Sincerely, a distant memory.

Draco stared at the letter before he frantically tore it to pieces. The last thing he needed was some sappy school peer to try to get back in touch with him. He didn’t care why the mystery person missed him. He wanted all memories of past Draco destroyed. Burned in the grasp of time until he was all but ashes.

There was no trinket today so he threw it all away and walked to his couch. He wasn’t hungry for lunch… maybe watching TV would give him an appetite. With the remote in hand he flicked it on and the screen turned bright.

It was a interview with Harry Potter, of course it was. Today was going so bloody horrible. First his mother, then the letter, now this.

“So are you looking for a flat mate?” The interviewers voice Pericles through Draco’s thoughts.

“Yeah actually! Living alone gets boring. I hate to say it but I almost miss the constant sight of people.” Harry’s voice was soft… warm. Draco’s cold hands grabbed at the cloth of his pants for warmth. Narcissa’s words floated back to his memory. Harry needed a roommate… 

He knew what he had to do, but not if he had the strength to do it.

The tv was nothing but background noise as he sat on his couch. What a horrible day. What a disgusting day. He clenched his fist and dug his nails into his palms.

“FUCKING TRAITORS!” He shouted as his palms began to bleed. Red trickled down his fingers.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t take the pain, or the loneliness. The letters were too much. They grew more painful by the day. His mother was a monster who loomed over him.

And Harry was slowly reestablishing himself in his life... He looked down at his bleeding palms and sighed. 

He dried them before writing his letter to Harry.


End file.
